


it was not Death, for i stood up (and all the dead lie down)

by giucorreias



Series: hope is the thing with feathers [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Healing, Healing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-28 17:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giucorreias/pseuds/giucorreias
Summary: Jean didn’t think he’d survive Riko a second time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can read this fic as a standalone, though it is technically the second part of "and i'm a rose", my andreil fic.
> 
> We've come full circle, by the way~ My first english fic on this website was on this fandom and this universe, with a challenge in which the theme was "mythological gods". Last time I got Persephone, but this time it was Asclepius, which is the god of healing and medicine. I thought it was a great chance for some healing!Jean, and Jeremy helping him get better with support (and a bit of godly powers~).
> 
> i haven't finished the fic yet, the deadline was yesterday, but hopefully i'll finish it by tomorrow tops. As always, it hasn't been beta read, and English is not my first language, so if you find any mistakes please let me know ^^  
> have fun~

Jean would like to be able say he didn't give Riko what he wanted; that he fought, that he resisted. But the truth was: he didn't. Riko wasn't the kind of person you could resist to, or fight against. Riko wasn't the kind of person to be defeated.

If Jean were entirely honest, he had expected that. Completely. When Kevin had made that deal, two years before, and the angry twin had managed to scare Riko away from the camp, Jean knew that Riko would find a way to go back: Jean knew there was no way he was really free.

Riko had promised him, after all. He had promised the both of them. They were _his_ : forever.

 

* * *

  

“Jean,” Riko demanded, sharp. Jean turned to look at him, slow and tired. Weary. “He's dying again. _Do something_.”

“I am no healer, Riko,” Jean retorted, but started moving towards him regardless. He had no desire to deal with the consequences of angering Riko or, worse, his half-brother.

Kengo, one of the brains of the criminal world and Riko’s stepfather, had died a few months back. Riko had demanded help in bringing him back—which was how he asked for favors, always. Jean had denied him, of course, but his denial had fallen to deaf ears: as soon as he left the safety of camp, Riko snatched him, then _convinced_ him to help.

Which is to say, forced him to—that was the way he convinced people, always.

Jean had hoped, in the beginning, that Riko would fail. In all honesty, he did not think taking a soul out of the Underworld was feasible. And yet, with money and power, anything was possible. Like many times before, hope was vain; empty.

Against all odds, Jean had brought Kengo’s soul back to his old body. At first, things were good. Riko was happy, Ichirou was happy, Kengo was happy—Jean was left to his own devices. Then, the problems started: bringing Kengo back never healed his body, after all. It simply recovered his soul and reattached it to its old shell.

The sickness was still there. And, then, there was the problem with the decay: his body had, after all, been dead for months. Jean was a child of Thanatos, not a disciple of Jesus. He could not do miracles. Jean wasn’t sure Riko understood that.

Riko led him towards Kengo’s room. It was dark, as the blinds were closed, and everything smelled like sulfur. Ichirou was sitting on the floor, against the wall, completely unconcerned, as if his father didn’t lay dead on the bed. Jean supposed he didn’t: was it really death, if he’d just be brought back to life again? He might as well call it “being asleep”, instead.

Ichirou raised his eyes from the phone as Jean entered, but otherwise did nothing. Riko approached the bed, forcefully pulling Jean along, and took Kengo’s hand.

Jean sighed.

“You know it isn’t safe for you to be touching him,” Jean said, as he said every time. Riko never remembered. Or perhaps, he simply didn’t care to remember that. Jean had known Riko since he was very young, and sometimes felt like he knew him better than he knew himself. Riko wanted Kengo to love him so much he didn’t care what he lost in order to make that happen.

It was cruel that he was fated to never be the favored child, but the Fates weren’t known for their fairness (Jean knew that better than _anyone_ ). Zeus liked Kevin better, and Kengo… he did not consider Riko his son.

“Just do it,” Riko growled, taking his hand away. Jean closed his eyes, put his hand over Kengo’s still heart. Used his energy to call the man’s soul back into his corpse. It was harder every time—the effort to anchor it again and again was _draining_ , and the soul fought him tooth and nail. It did not want to go back, because it knew that every time it did, a bit of its existence disappeared.

Eventually, there would be not enough left of it to anchor.

Jean just wasn’t sure he’d be alive long enough for that to matter—every time he brought Kengo back, a bit of him disappeared, too.

 

* * *

  

“Jean,” Riko demanded. He didn’t need to say anything else, anymore. Jean knew exactly what he wanted, what his tone meant.

“Riko, I can’t-” Jean tried to say, but he stopped himself as Riko approached him, intimidating and looming.

Rike was tall, powerful. A child of _Zeus_. Anyone could see that reflected on his electric blue eyes, particularly exotic thanks to his japanese features, or his constantly spiked hair. There was nothing Jean could do to deny him—nothing he was willing to try.

“I don’t care that you think you _can’t_ ,” Riko barked at him, pulling him up. Jean stumbled, while Riko simply watched him, impassive. Riko did not offer help, he never did. “I care that you bring him _back_.”

“ _Évidemment_ ,” Jean muttered. _Clearly_. He might have tried to speak louder, if he could find the strength. Stand up to Riko, one last time.

He didn’t.

 

* * *

  

As Jean worked to anchor Kengo one last time, a black-winged butterfly flew up to him—it blinked into existence above Kengo’s heart, and manifested into a humanoid figure right beside him. No one else was alarmed, so Jean assumed no one else could see it.

He wondered if that was what it felt like to die.

Jean looked beside him, and saw his father’s face. Blood red eyes and a sad smile, his cold hand on Jean’s shoulder.

“Stop me,” Jean asked. Begged. The edges of his vision were already darkening—he felt his legs give. His father just shook his head, ever so slowly. Jean was too tired to feel anger or frustration, he felt weariness instead. “Why are you here, then?”

Thanatos pointed to somewhere behind him. Jean dared to turn—

At the same time, the door broke open with a loud crash, and several people swarmed inside; Distantly, Jean recognized they were the cavalry (Jean was glad to recognize Kevin, he thought it was nice at least one of them was brave).

Distantly, he thought it wasn’t fair they arrived too late.

His father took his hand away from his shoulder, and Jean suddenly realized it was the only thing keeping him upright. Thanatos advanced against Riko, more or less at the same time Minyard slashed at him with one of his knives.

Jean would have smiled, if he could. He couldn’t.

The last thing he saw was a handsome, bright figure running up at him—the warm hand moving towards his face.

As far as last visions went, he was glad it wasn’t Kengo’s ugly gasp for life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once in his life, he was glad to be proven wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna finish this Tuesday, oops.

The most surprising thing was that Jean woke up. He knew he wasn’t dead—he couldn’t be. The Underworld wasn’t so bright, and the dead weren’t supposed to feel pain.

Though maybe he was dead, and this was his punishment—if that was so, he didn’t want to open his eyes and face Riko again.

“I think he’s waking up,” a voice said, urgent. Not Riko, though Jean didn’t dare open his eyes. Not yet. He heard the sound of footsteps, and then there was a shadow in front of him, blocking the light.

“Jean,” someone called. This voice, he recognized. Jean dared let the air he was holding go, and opened his eyes to the worried face of one of his best friends. Her hair was shorter and she had an ugly bruise on her cheek—a terrible sight, on such an angelic face.

“Renee,” he said. He wondered if the relief was as obvious on his voice as it was on his mind. He tried to sit up, failed, then accepted her help to do it. “Hi.”

She smiled at him.

“Hello,” she took a few steps back, rested her hands on her hips. “It’s good to finally see you awake, we weren’t sure-”

Jean nodded. She didn’t need to finish the thought, Jean was aware he had almost died. He had been certain he would—there was no way he’d have seen Thanatos, otherwise. His father did not show himself lightly, even when it came to his children. And yet there he was…

“I was certain I was going to die,” Jean told her. Her face didn’t change—there wasn’t much that affected Renee, which was one of the main reasons they were such good friends—, but somewhere, someone made a choked noise.

Jean looked towards it, and there it was: the face he thought was going to be the last thing he saw before he died. It was a powerful feeling, to see it again—it meant he was alive, after all.

He hadn’t really believed he was, until then.

 

* * *

 

 “Here, let me help you up,” Jeremy said. It was a familiar sentence, now. Jean had been spending his days on the infirmary, as he wasn’t yet strong enough to go back to living on his own.

Sometimes, it was Abby who woke him up on the early mornings and helped him move around, kept him busy. She was nice enough, he supposed. Pretty, sunny, kind. Quiet, even, which was a pleasant surprise.

Jeremy, however was something else.

He stopped beside Jean, put Jean’s arm over his shoulders, helped him up. Jeremy’s body was warm—warm, when Jean’s was so very _cold_. He had never been particularly warm, before: being a child of Death, cold was just another aspect of his biology, but it seemed that ever since his ordeal with Riko, his body had lost its ability to create warmth on his own.

It was easy to forget how it felt not to be so cold—like it was easy to forget what it was to be happy, or healthy, or _well_.

Jeremy helped him remember. Jean wouldn’t know how any of that felt like, any more, if it weren’t for him.

“ _Merci_ ,” he said. _Thank you_. For the help, he thought, and everything else.

 

* * *

 

 The thing was: Jeremy was a child of Asclepius, the god of medicine and healing—the god of life; of keeping alive; of not letting _die_. The thing was: he was the exact opposite of Jean, on everything. Jeremy was always smiling, always speaking, always seeing the positive side of life.

It should have bothered him. Jean was a quiet person, an old soul. Jean liked silence, and reading (and fighting, though that wasn’t an option anymore—Jeremy said it might be, in the future, and Jean wasn’t sure he believed it yet).

Surprisingly, they talked a lot. Or rather, Jeremy talked, and Jean… listened. It didn’t seem to bother Jeremy that Jean didn’t always talk back, or that he didn’t always react. There was no pressure when it came to interacting—no “ _are you listening to me?_ ” said with an annoyed tone.

Jean could pretend to listen and never feel bad about it, even if in reality he never did it. Surprisingly, he actually liked to listen to what Jeremy had to say. Not only because it took him away from painful memories or dangerous thoughts, but because Jeremy had this take on life that made Jean want to see things the exact way that Jeremy did.

That, in itself, was a powerful thing.

 

* * *

 

“So you can feel when people are sick?” Jean asked. He was sitting on an ottoman close to the window, bathing in sunlight, mainly because Jeremy insisted he do it. Something about being inside for too long and skin health that Jean really didn’t care about. What Jean cared about was this: Jeremy was sitting beside him, legs crossed, hands on his knees.

“Yup,” Jeremy answered. “It’s pretty useful, in general. The children of Apollo, they’re good at healing, but they can’t _feel_ it like I do.”

“Can you heal, too?”

Jeremy shaked his head. Then he corked it to the side. “Well, in a way.”

“What do you mean?” Jean raised his eyebrows, curiosity piqued. He turned to look at Jeremy, who was in turn looking at him, molten gold eyes fixed on face. There was a scar there, where once there had been the tattoo of a number. He had cut it away, on a moment of weakness. It wasn’t pretty.

Jeremy smiled, though, as if it was nothing, and Jean felt like smiling back at him. He did it, quickly, there and gone. If possible, Jeremy’s smile grew.

Jean had to look away.

“I always know what to do to make the person feel better,” Jeremy said, finally, after a long minute, when the silence settled and Jean had almost forgotten he had asked anything at all.

In response, Jean shrugged. The answer wasn’t as important as the fact Jeremy had answered him. (And the fact Jeremy had answered him wasn’t as important as Jeremy having said anything at all, and his saying something wasn’t as important as the fact they were sitting together under the sunlight, Jeremy a pile of warmth beside him and Jean feeling contentment.

In the end, it was more about his presence, less about the content of his speech.)

“Is that why you’re always surrounded by people?”

Jean heard the sound of movement, and was startled when Jeremy dropped his head over his legs, then made himself comfortable. For a moment, Jean wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but decided to rest them on the ottoman, beside his legs. Jeremy looked up at him, smiling again, and this time Jean could do nothing but face him.

“I like being surrounded by people.”

“You would,” Jean told him.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Jeremy asked him, clearly unsure whether he was supposed to feel offended. He didn’t—and he wouldn’t—, but he might have joked about it. Jean was serious, though, and answered quickly, surely.

“You’re _nice_ , Jeremy Knox.”

It felt like he was admitting something—and maybe he was.

In response, Jeremy chuckled. His body shaked against Jean’s legs, who once again didn’t know what to do—how to move.

“You’re nice too, you know,” was his answer. Jeremy yawned, then closed his eyes. Jean simply watched him—Jeremy had worked all afternoon long, without complaining. It was good that he was resting. It was _good_ that he trusted Jean enough to rest on his company.

Jeremy might never know how important that was to Jean, how important it was to be trusted.

But then again, maybe he _did_.

 

* * *

 

Kevin’s presence was a surprise—Jean had been on the infirmary for nearly three months, already, and it was the first time he showed up. He was as tall as ever; taller, maybe, and looked _fine_. Jean didn’t think that lightly: despite the fact he was obviously uncomfortable, he was also… brighter, somehow. Livelier. As if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he had not a single worry left.

“Hey,” he said, shy. Jean lowered his book, put it beside him, and looked at him. Kevin lowered his shoulders, trying to fold himself. Scratched the back of his head. Said nothing else.

“Kevin.” Jean nodded. He felt awkward, so awkward. After a moment or so of silence, Jean sighed. “What brings you here?”

Kevin pulled a chair, a bit too small for his height, and took his time sitting down. Jean knew what he was doing: stalling. It was a technique Jean himself was familiar with.

“Hey,” he said again. He wet his lips. Moved his legs. Jean quashed his instinct to fidget, and watched him, instead. Impassive. “Look. I just- I wanted to say. Sorry. For not going after you, when you- when Riko took you.”

Jean shrugged. He wasn’t sure what else to do. It wasn’t ok, exactly, but he didn’t blame Kevin either. Kevin, who was strong enough to leave Riko, back when he had still been welcome on the camp, who had been smart enough to look for help on the right place. Kevin, who had been responsible for running him off and a good enough of a fighter that Riko didn’t dare approach him for help.

Jean couldn’t blame him for surviving, or for being strong. He couldn’t blame him for resisting. He could only blame himself for not being the same.

“That wasn’t on you.”

Kevin smiled.

“You know, you should come into the amphitheater sometime. I miss sparring with you—no one here is as good with a longsword as you are.”

Jean smiled, too, but it was short-lived.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fight again, Kevin. I-” he stopped himself. On the really bad days, Jean couldn’t even stand on his own. On the good ones, he still felt terrible if he exerted himself.

“Jeremy said you’re getting better, though.”

Jean’s smile lasted longer, this time.

“Jeremy sees everything on a positive light,” Jean told him. “It’s part of his charm.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth, closed it. This time, Jean was _sure_ he’d admitted to something.

He was glad Jeremy wasn’t there, for it.

 

* * *

 

“You know, you don’t have to stay here all day long,” Jeremy said, voice soft. It was late afternoon, and there was no one else in the infirmary but the two of them.

“I know,” Jean answered. There was more he could say, but he didn’t. He knew Jeremy wouldn’t understand that he didn’t want to look weak in front of other people, that didn’t want to be looked at with pity or disgust.

Jeremy sighed. It was such a rare sound that Jean had to turn to look at him. Jeremy had big, sad eyes, and a frown. Jean watched him, but the frown didn’t morph into a smile, like he had expected—it stayed.

“Kevin told me you used to fight, before.”

“I did,” Jean nodded. “It was one of the reasons Riko-” Jean stopped himself. It might be selfish, but he didn’t really want to share Jeremy with Riko, even if just his memory.

“Don’t you miss it?”

“What’s the point?”

“That’s not an answer.” Jeremy sat beside him. Jean allowed himself to relish on Jeremy’s warmth.

“It is not,” Jean agreed easily. “I do miss it. But I don’t think I will-”

“You’re wrong, though,” Jeremy interrupted him. “You’re wrong. You’re getting better, Jean. You have good days more often than you don’t, and you’re not so cold anymore, or as weak as you were when you got here. You even smile, sometimes,” Jeremy sighed. “Getting better isn’t immediate. If you expect it to be, then you’ll only get frustrated.”

“I just-” Jeremy slung his arm over Jean’s shoulder, and Jean stopped speaking without meaning to. “Do you ever just- feel like things are never going to be the way you want them to be? Like you’re fated to fail.”

“No,” Jeremy muttered. “But it’s alright if you do.”

“Is it?”

“Getting better, Jean,” Jeremy said. “It’s a process.” He kissed Jean’s cheek, who once again didn’t know how to react. It was a familiar feeling, by now. Deep, on the pit of his stomach. Once, he might have tensed, or snapped. Now, he just looked at Jeremy, terribly fond.

“What was that for?”

“For being brave.” Jeremy smiled at him, getting rid of the frown for the first time. Jean smiled back, of course, there was nothing he could think of doing, even if he thought Jeremy was wrong. There was nothing brave about Jean.

But maybe that was alright, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He might see the world the way Jeremy does, someday. For now, he’s glad to be—happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooo late afvsdfds. But finally, it is done! I hope you guys like it :>

Jean had been to the Underworld before. Not in person, of course: only the children of Hades had such privilege. But his connection to Death was strong, and he had dreamt about it more than once—enough to know exactly where he was, as soon as the scenery appeared. At first, there was nothing weird about it, nothing essentially different. There was King Sisyphus, chasing his boulder. Tantalus, under his tree. Ixion, on the flaming wheel. Dozens of faces he recognized, a few he didn’t.

The Fields of Punishment were never a pleasant sight—and as a matter of fact, he didn’t come here very often. Jean looked beside him, to where his father stood, a silent figure watching over the tortured souls, and opened his mouth to ask him a question, but thought better of it. Thanatos didn’t really like to speak, and his question would probably go unanswered.

A whole minute went by—hours, perhaps? Time worked differently when he was dreaming—before Thanatos offered Jean his hand, and Jean took it. His father’s hand was surprisingly solid, warm. His surroundings changed, suddenly, and he had to blink a few times to get rid of the dizziness. Only once he opened his eyes, properly, did he realize why he had been brought here.

A few feet away from him stood Riko, sword in hand. He wasn’t alone, though, as Kevin was also there, tall and mighty, a number one on his cheek.

“You call yourself a swordfighter?” Kevin mocked, a cruel smile on his face. Riko growled, angry, and his grip on his sword strengthened.

He attacked.

It wasn’t a pretty fight. Not two blows in, Riko was already on the floor, an ugly gash on his arm. Riko got up, desperate. Kevin laughed.

“You think you’re the number one?”

Riko feinted to the left, but Kevin predicted. Riko attacked head on, and Kevin parried. Blows were traded, though Riko didn’t manage to land a single one. Kevin knocked him down again, and suddenly his laughing figure was replaced by a sneering Ichirou.

“You think father loved you?” He pointed the sword down at Riko, who just looked at him with wide eyes. “Get up and fight me like a man!”

“He’ll spend eternity trying to beat the people he sought to surpass, in life,” Jean was startled by Thanatos’ grave voice. He looked from the fight to the dark figure of his father, still standing beside him. “And failing every time.”

Thanatos’ red eyes were an unsettling vision, but Jean supposed he should be used, by now. He looked back to the fight, and Ichirou had already been replaced by a figure that looked pretty much like him. It felt weird to see himself fighting from a distance—it felt _good_ to see himself knocking Riko down and walking away victorious.

“I brought you here because I wished you to see—not his punishment, exactly, but that you’re _free_.” Thanatos said again, and though Jean didn’t startle this time, he was still surprised. “Riko Moriyama will never bother you again,”

_Closure_ , his mind supplied, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jeremy. _He’s giving you closure_.

“Thank you,” Jean answered. “This means a lot to me.”

“The children of Death aren’t generally happy,” Thanatos told him. Jean nodded, because he knew it was true. “And life hasn’t treated you kindly. But I hope-” Thanatos stopped himself. Jean looked at him again, and saw deep, ingrained sadness.

Without prompting, Jean’s mind thought of Jeremy.

“I think I might be, one day,” Jean told his father—he was surprised to notice a soft smile forming on the corners of Thanatos’ mouth.  

“I am glad.”

 

* * *

 

 “You’re ready, I think, to go back to your cabin,” Jeremy sprang on him, a proud smile on his face, early one morning. Jean tried to smile, too, but he failed and ended up with a grimace, instead.

Jeremy noticed.

“You know you don’t have to worry about it,” he said, then, voice soft, encouraging tone.

“I’m not worried,” Jean answered with a shrug. It was a lie. He knew he was bad at keeping friends, and he feared that now that he was _fine_ , Jeremy would have no reason to keep hanging out with him. He had Kevin and Renee, of course, it wasn’t as if he’d be friendless—but Jeremy… Jeremy was something else.

 

* * *

 

(Jeremy was warmth, and hope, and contentment.

Jeremy was _happiness_.

Jean didn’t want to live without that, now that he knew what was like to have it.)

 

* * *

 

He was prepared to eat lunch alone—but then, against all odds, Jeremy called him over. It was a funny feeling, to look around the place expecting to find Jeremy and look at him from afar, only to be found right back and waved over.

Jean ended up squeezed between two people he had never talked to before, a nosy girl named Layla, and a boy whose name he didn’t quite catch because as soon as Jean sat, even before Jeremy finished introducing everyone, Layla said:

“So you’re the famous Jean Moreau.”

Jean didn’t quite know how to answer that, so he shrugged, face neutral. He hoped she didn’t want to talk about Riko, that was one thing he rather forget-

“Jeremy has told us a _lot_ about you,” she kept going. Jean raised his eyebrows, then, curiosity piqued, unease forgotten.

He looked at Jeremy, who was sitting right in front of him, staring at his food intently—a soft blush rising from his neck. Jean felt his stomach flip as Jeremy laughed self-consciously and attempted to change the subject. He felt suddenly very brave. (Jeremy had that power over him).

“I’m sure Renee’s tired of hearing about Jeremy, too,” Jean said softly. Layla squealed. Jeremy looked up, surprised, and blushed even more under the good-natured teasing of his friends. It was short lived—someone asked the table a question, and suddenly they were involved on a heated discussion on the best pop singers of the 90s.

Jean didn’t dare say anything else.

 

* * *

 

“Did you mean it?” Jeremy asked, hand on his shoulder, falling to step beside him. He was breathing heavily, having ran after Jean, who had left right after he had finished eating, bravery _gone_.

“You know I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Jean answered. It was the truth. He wouldn’t have bothered speaking up, if it was to lie.

“I wondered-” Jeremy started. “Sometimes we don’t realize how something sounds until we say it out loud. So I wondered-”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“That you liked me?” Jeremy seemed incredulous. Jean nodded.

“Kevin knew right away, back when he went to visit me,” he sighed. “And Renee… she keeps sending me knowing looks.”

“You’re not-”

“Affectionate,” Jean interrupted him, automatically, then shrugged. “Yes.”

“Easy to read,” Jeremy said instead, shaking his head, smiling slightly. “When I think I understand you, you go and surprise me. Not in a bad way!” He quickly assured Jean. Then added, softly: “Never in a bad way.”

“You’re too _nice_ , Jeremy Knox.”

“You, too.”

Jean snorted. Jeremy touched his arm, lightly, and Jean stopped walking, turned to face him. Jeremy touched his cheek, then, fingertips over his ugly scar, thumb over his lip. Jean closed his eyes, sighed.

Jeremy kissed him.

 

* * *

  

The amphitheater wasn’t crowded and it was early enough that the sun wasn’t too hot, but those weren’t the reasons he was there, even if they played a big part on his decision. The reason was this: Jeremy had told him it would do him well. The _real_ reason was this: Jean missed fighting so much it sometimes seemed like there was a hole on his life nothing else could fill.

He wondered, at first, if being here would make it worse. He knew, though,  that he couldn’t avoid it forever: fighting was an essential part of any demigod’s life, and it was impossible to survive without it. Even if he had wanted to—and he _didn’t_ —, there was no way to leave this life behind. Besides, Jean wouldn’t know what else do to.

So it was bitter to be sitting there, the sun on his face, the breeze on his hair, legs and arms crossed, watching attentively among other viewers as Kevin fought a boy half his height, sword crackling with energy as his opponent created vines to absorb it. His hand itched with the desire to hold a sword himself, and it felt weird to know he wouldn’t. Not _today_.

He felt ok, though. Surprisingly, he felt ok. His mind was working to analyze Kevin’s movements and catalogue his mistakes—awake, alive, alight. There were aches—there were always aches—but he didn’t really feel any _pain_. Riko was dead, locked away somewhere on the Underworld so he couldn’t attempt to escape. Jeremy was a warm presence beside him.

For once on his life, things were alright.

Jean would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can come talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://giucorreias.tumblr.com/).


End file.
